Only Apples
by Kelly Keil
Summary: Spend an autumn afternoon with Mulder and Scully.


TITLE: Only Apples  
  
AUTHOR: Kelly Keil  
  
EMAIL: klkeil@ameritech.net  
  
WEBSITE: http://grapefruithead.com/kellyfic  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just keep my info attached.  
  
FEEDBACK: Is the fruit in my pie. Please tell me   
what you think.  
  
RATING: PG  
  
CLASSIFICATION: V, MSR  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. You know who does.   
I just took them on an outing.   
  
SUMMARY: Spend an autumn afternoon with Mulder and   
Scully.  
  
NOTES: At the end.  
  
_________________________  
  
Only Apples  
By Kelly Keil  
  
  
"Dress casual," he advises over the phone, "and wear   
sturdy shoes."  
  
"Where are we going?" she asks, knowing full well he   
won't tell her. She hears the suppressed excitement   
in his voice.  
  
"You'll see," is all he'll say. "Get ready. I'll be   
there in a half hour."  
  
When he picks her up, she asks again about their   
destination but he remains mute. With resignation   
she joins him in the car, prepared for a long journey.   
  
Mulder drives the car further and further from   
civilization, whistling tunelessly through his teeth.   
Scully sits beside him, thinking how much she dislikes   
surprises. Neither speaks.   
  
As the miles fly by, she fingers her old flannel shirt   
and stares down at her worn boots. Brilliant red and   
gold trees flash by her window and geese fly south for   
winter against a vivid blue sky.   
  
* * *  
  
"An orchard and cider mill?" Scully asks. She pictures   
severed limbs peeking out of apple mash. Thrusting   
away the image, she summons derision. "Is it haunted?"  
  
Mulder looks at her, clearly puzzled. "Not that I   
know of. I suppose we could ask." Comprehension dawns   
on his face. "You don't know why we're here, do you?"   
He begins chuckling as he walks away from the car toward   
a small market that adjoins the weather-beaten barn.  
  
Annoyed that Mulder knows something that she does not,   
Scully turns her gaze toward the apple trees. Their   
branches are hobbled and bent over in painful angles   
under the weight of their apples. Unbidden, a vision   
of blood sacrifice to the hungry trees' roots floats   
before her. She shakes her head with impatience and   
follows Mulder into the market.  
  
"So what are we here for?" she asks Mulder as he   
approaches her.  
  
"Isn't it obvious? To pick apples." He twirls the   
basket in his hands. "Are you ready?" He begins to   
walk toward the orchard.  
  
Scully stands where she is. "But..." Of all the   
scenarios she's pictured, this isn't one of them.   
"But...why?"  
  
"You like apples, don't you?" he says.  
  
"You can buy apples anywhere," she says. "Mulder,   
I don't understand. I thought..." she almost mentions   
her earlier grisly ruminations but stops herself in   
time. "I don't have time to pick apples."  
  
Mulder takes the basket in one hand and holds the other   
out toward her. A winning smile graces his lips. "Come   
on, Scully. What are you afraid of? They're only   
apples."  
  
Scully is rooted by indecision. There are a hundred   
things she should be doing. The minutia of her daily   
life call for her attention, but Mulder is still holding   
his hand out to her. How long before he lets it fall   
to his side? How long until his eyes cloud over and   
his mischievous smile fades?   
  
Scully reaches out for Mulder's hand. They're only   
apples.  
  
* * *  
  
Mulder shines an apple on his shirt until its skin   
glows deep garnet. He takes a deep bite and chews   
thoughtfully. "Empire," he says, offering Scully a   
bite then throwing it over his shoulder. The taste   
is sweet and crisp, "A pretty decent eating apple,"   
he remarks.  
  
They walk to another tree and repeat the ritual. The   
flavor of this apple is very tart. "Jonathan," he   
informs her. "Good for baking. Not bad eating,   
either, as long as you like 'em sour."  
  
They carry the basket between them, Scully's end dipping   
much closer to the ground. What she knows of apples   
would barely cover the bottom of their bushel. Sir   
Isaac Newton discovered gravity when one fell on his   
head. Johnny Appleseed planted orchards across America.   
Eve was damned for plucking one. Just useless fairy   
tales.   
  
Around them is the buzz of bees and the sweet yet sour   
smell of fallen apples. Close by is the burble of a   
small brook edged with tall grass and blackberry   
brambles. Children are daring each other to hop the   
creek while their parents pick Golden Delicious apples   
that will later be packed into school lunches.   
  
It suddenly occurs to her that this is what life ought   
to be: simple beads of peace and contentment on a   
string. She has been twisted in on herself, like the   
branches of the apple trees, weighed down by the   
burdens she bears. She has been looking down at the   
ground, seeing only dirt and decay.   
  
"Isn't this a beauty?" Mulder asks.  
  
Scully cranes her neck to see his upturned face as he   
picks a likely apple. She realizes this is the first   
time in months, maybe years, that she has looked at the  
world around her and seen its splendor  
  
"Yes," she agrees. "It is."  
  
* * *  
  
There are no ladders in sight and all the good apples   
within easy reach have been plucked. Mulder ducks   
under low lying branches and begins to climb a tree.   
Scully follows him, meaning to admonish him to be   
careful, but forgets what she was about to say under   
the shelter of the green branches.  
  
Under here is only cool shade, the grotesque bend of   
tree limbs hidden from her view. She looks up at   
Mulder in his precarious perch and sees deep blue sky,   
jewel-green leaves, and apples hanging around them like   
fat drops of sin. She sees how beautiful he is, not   
for any perfection of form or face, but because he is   
so dear to her.   
  
She wants him and this life he has given her a   
tantalizing glimpse of. This is how it should be, she   
thinks, picking apples and buying groceries and paying   
off mortgages.   
  
She catches the apples he drops and carefully places   
them in the basket.   
  
"Why the long face? Are you okay down there?" he asks.  
  
She is quiet for a few moments more then allows herself   
to speak. "I've been thinking, Mulder."  
  
He begins to climb down the tree. "Dangerous, Scully.   
Thinking, that is." He is teasing her and she feels a   
stab of impatience. This is serious. This is important.  
  
"I've been thinking how nice this day was -- "  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
" -- and how alien it feels to me." She had been   
expecting a crime scene, not apples. Somehow she   
feels it should be the other way around.  
  
His feet hit the soft ground with a dull thump, then   
he walks over to her. He lifts her chin so that she   
is forced to look into his eyes. "I wanted to come   
here to remind both of us that life is more than the   
work and ugliness we see every day. There is a world   
beyond all that I sometimes miss." He draws away   
from her then takes an apple from their basket and   
bites into it. "This is what we're fighting for."  
  
She smiles at him. "Apples?"  
  
"You know what I mean. Sometimes I need to be reminded.   
I thought you might, too."  
  
Scully grabs the apple from him and takes a bite of her   
own. "Thank you," she says, her mouth full of   
sweetness. She is still holding the apple in her hand   
when he bends his head to kiss her. He tastes like the   
fruit hanging all around them. He takes his time, as   
if the world wasn't in danger of ever ending, tasting   
her and drinking her in. He kisses her like a man who   
has the time to drive over fifty miles to pick apples   
when they can be bought at the local grocery store.   
  
He kisses her like a man who is in love.  
  
"There are things worth fighting for," he murmurs as he   
pulls back from her. His half lidded eyes seem to say,   
Come on, Scully. What are you afraid of? They're only   
kisses.  
  
Again he waits for her to decide.   
  
She pulls his face down to hers. "This is worth fighting   
for," she says.  
  
* * *  
  
Above them the sky darkens from cobalt to purple, stars   
begin to appear, and a round orange moon hangs near the   
horizon.   
  
At home cocoa will be drunk, bills will be paid, and   
apple crisp will be baked. Life will cycle on, but she   
will remember, with each bite of apple she eats, the   
color of the sky, the smell of ripe fruit, and the taste   
of Mulder's kiss.   
  
These are the things that really matter.  
  
  
End  
________________________  
  
Notes: I owe many thanks to my various lovely and   
talented betas: Livia Babalan, Maria Nicole, Jess,   
Cofax, JHJ Armstrong, Sabine, and Punk Maneuverability.   
Cofax, thanks for the astronomy lesson. Sab and Punk:   
it hurt, but it was worth it. You made it better.   
Thank you. As always, my heart belongs to Yes, Virginia.   
This story is for Token, who was the inspiration.   
  
General comments and feedback are welcome at   
klkeil@ameritech.net.  
  
  
  



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